THE girl WITH There were only so many times she could accept defeat Before the pain of rejection began to show on her skin. The scars trailing her spine Were constant reminders of the lies she’d been told, Tears she had shed, And people who had trampled on her ability to love. She was trapped in a chrysalis of pain. Her silhouette, Blemished and bruised, Carried elegance in every pore And glistened in the blaze of the rising sun. Thick, maroon curls rippled through The divide of her shoulder blades, Caressing the freckles scattered across her chest, And tickling the fold above her left hip. Though her posture sank with the weight of judgment, And the bags under her eyes screamed for a break; Her beauty was never questioned. A reflection of the hope she’d refuse to let go of— People envied the light that surged through her veins. Jealous of her alluring spirit, Unable to love a soul they couldn’t understand. It wasn’t until she lost her footing On the ground beneath her, —Pushed by the hatred of humankind— That she found solitude in the authenticity of nature. The flowers loved her more than any human ever had, Appreciating the resilience of her wildflower soul. Hatchlings sang in her presence of her wake, Humming for the woman who knew what it felt like To fall from her nest.
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